


this is why we're going to hell

by Anonymous



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, Blasphemy, M/M, allusions to religion, church boy!Luhan, delinquent!Minseok, lapslock, yep there's a reason why this was titled this way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 18:08:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20178520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “you look beautiful like this,” minseok whispers, “all laid out like an offering to any lascivious god who dares look down.”he leans closer to whisper into luhan’s ear, bodies pressed chest to hip. “but you’re not for the gods, are you?” he murmurs. “you’re all forme.”





	this is why we're going to hell

luhan’s cheek was still stinging when he decided to sneak out of his house.

it’s been around two hours since his father hit him, threatened to disown him, and left him in the kitchen. he’s been there ever since, absolutely refusing to wipe away the tears that fell down his face. they were signs of cowardice, evidence backing up his father’s claims. _ what did i do to deserve a son like you? _ his father had said, his balance uneven as the stench of the cheap liquor wafted from his mouth. _ God must be punishing me. He gave me a cocksucker for a son_, he added, before swinging a heavy hand to slap luhan across the cheek. 

his father took one long stare at him again, before he moved closer to luhan and grabbed his face, pulling him close. with his father’s harsh grip, unrestrained by his drunkenness, luhan knew that there were no limits to the pain that the man was willing to inflict on him. his cheeks were mushed, his back pressed hard against their kitchen wall, while he was crowded by his father’s looming presence. the danger was high, and every rational instinct in his body screamed for him to run, but _ he couldn’t_. he was hurt—his father’s grip _ ached_—but at the same time, he found himself nailed to the ground, able to meet his father’s gaze directly. he would have patted himself in the back for that display of courage, but as he met his father’s angry gaze, it wasn’t bravery that he could feel; it was pure, unadulterated emptiness. 

the small victory that he felt when he found no fear in his system immediately dissipated when he saw his father’s fury—and its intensity—directed at him. now all he had was resignation. what did it mean when a man of God, who has dedicated his entire life to serving Him, wanted to return His gift of a child—an outright disrespect? his father was willing to disrespect God just to get rid of him—maybe that said much more about luhan than his father.

he was a disappointment, a failed _ blessing._ his father deserved to show every inch of anger that he felt. so he let the man do what he wanted. he stood his ground and refused the temptation of letting the floor catch him, when his father gave him a final, solid shove and his head loudly banged against their kitchen’s concrete wall. he mustered every piece of restraint in him to not betray any reaction when his father spat on his face before stalking off to his room. and so far, two hours later, he still trying to maintain control.

despite the air cooling the spit on his face, it still run hot on luhan’s stinging cheeks. the back of his head was pounding, but he didn’t let himself assess the bump that he knew was there. did he really deserve that? his knees have buckled under him though, and he burned in shame as he sat on their cold, grimy, kitchen floor.

_ five hundred forty-seven_… he counted. _ five hundred forty-eight_. he’s been sitting on the floor for two hours, waiting for the tell-tale signs of his father going to sleep. it’s been an hour and a half since the kicks and shouts contained in his father’s room subsided, and another hour since luhan saw all of his lights turn off. but he still hasn’t stood up from where he sat.

perhaps it was fear, humiliation, or the classic resignation, but he was paralyzed on the floor. he had been staring into the nothingness for two hours, counting, _ waiting _ for something that he didn’t even know. was it hope? for things to be better? luhan was raised religious, but he himself knew that he probably have bothered Him enough for his problems.

but then again, in the silence of the night, with his father’s snores accompanying the crickets’ lullabies, to whom else will we turn to? his mother had cheated life and joined the heavens early, leaving him and his father alone. and now with his father abandoning him, it was safe to say that he was as good as an orphan now.

and where do orphans go? where do the truly alone, the runt of the world’s litter go? 

luhan stood up quickly, the sudden movement giving no mercy to his already aching head, but he moved fast, as fast as he could to maintain the silence. he couldn’t risk his father waking up, seeing that he was still alive and well enough for another round, so quickly searched for his shoes and the nearest jacket to him.

then, with only his thin jacket and slippers, luhan went out of his house and decided to find his home.

* * *

by all means, their town’s church should have been hard to find, especially in the darkness of the night. the street lamps seemed to enjoy making luhan suffer, collectively becoming faulty, refusing to guide the way. all that helped luhan as he walked on the streets in the night were the few safety lamps lit on some of the houses along the street, and the intimate knowledge of a town that came when you were born and raised there.

their church was at the center of their town, nestled in the middle of different buildings—schools, restaurants, and whatnot—all new ones, reflecting the tenacity of a town that has withstood the challenges of time. their church was the oldest building in the town, a concrete reminder of their town’s past, and somehow, with all the problems that have sprung up in his life, luhan’s only hallmark of home.

while most people enjoyed the food that the new restaurant offered, or the comfort that the new establishments provided, luhan sought solace on the church. it reminded him of his childhood, when he was still free to run around and chase pigeons on the church’s square. when he would eat the street food offered after each sunday’s mass. when his mother would be there, his hand in hers, pointing towards the sky to look at shapes formed by the clouds, as his father narrated silly stories in even sillier voices. when he was still loved.

that, for him, was what the church was. a reminder that once, before in the not-so-distant past, he had been loved. 

(and as much as he wanted to deny it, whenever he tried to go to church, he always had an ulterior motive: to feel loved again.)

* * *

despite looking heavy, the church doors were actually easy enough to be opened. luhan and his stinging cheek and back and head (and heart) even managed to pull it open without a fuss. 

slipping into the building, luhan groped blindly around the darkness, waving his arm in front of him. he imagined he must have looked deranged, but in the silence of the dark church, he felt no shame. the church was the stuff where nightmares and horror movies were made of—dark, large spaces with no amount of guidance whatsoever—but luhan found comfort in it. maybe, this was truly what being in the house of God felt like—easy, comfortable, _ at peace_. in hindsight, he thought, _ maybe this was what being home felt like. _

he traced the solid sides of the hardwood church pews before he found somewhere he liked. he slid on a pew near in what he guessed was the center of the church, and sat on a spot nearest to the aisle. he closed his eyes, letting himself be enveloped in a warmth that should’ve been impossible when it was late november and it had rained that afternoon. it was ridiculous to even close his eyes when he was surrounded by black at all sides, but luhan found himself unable to engage in feeble arguments with his mind’s logic. all he could do was just let himself _ be _.

alone, in the dark, of a church that he broke into, wearing a thin shirt and his trusty basketball jersey shorts, with worn-down, mismatched slippers and a too-small jacket to match, luhan took a deep breath, and let himself _ free_. he had already cried before at his house, but he had tried his hardest to stifle them down, biting at the back of his hand to muffle his sobs. he had been scared earlier—not of his father, _ but of what his father could do_, so he fought his hardest to keep quiet and maintain his composure.

he didn’t even want to entertain what would have happened had he lost his composure and opened the floodgates, letting his _ cowardly _sobs reverberate around their house. his father would have returned, and who knows what would have happened next? his head hurt too much for him to think, but he really couldn’t remember the last time he felt any inkling of love or affection towards his father, but from how the man looked at him earlier… luhan would much rather not know what it was like turning your father into a murderer.

but here, there was no danger of that. there was no more guilt, no more worries of getting caught, no more _ fear_. 

luhan gripped on the top of the backrest of the church pew in front of him, and despite the pain, moved to lower himself down on the kneeler. with his elbows resting on the top of the backrest, his hands tightly clasped together, and his gaze on the altar dimly-lit by one of the street lamps outside, the light peering inside from the window. and with another deep exhale, luhan rid himself of the emotions that have clogged his chest since the moment he saw his father reading his journal earlier.

the tears pricked his eyes, as if wanting to fall down but not knowing if they were permitted to. that was to be expected—he hasn’t allowed himself to cry in a while. with one blink, he let them stream down his face, hoping that they wash his face from the disgrace his father has blessed him earlier. he gripped his hands together tighter than before, refusing to give in to the temptation of wiping his face down. _ no_. _ let him be cleansed_. 

he took a sharp inhale of breath through his mouth, trying to support the waves of sobs that came out of him like an avalanche. with his shoulders shaking wildly, luhan let himself sob freely, making the noises that he suppressed back at his house. in this place, there was no one to judge him, no one to slap him, no one to condemn his existence, no one to _ hurt _him.

he convinced himself that the absence of pain was him being loved.

he didn’t know when the tears subsided. it felt like hours, but after, luhan came back to sitting on the pew. stretching out his legs, hearing the tell-tale cracking sounds of his knees, he kept his gaze straight on the altar, for the sole reason of having something to stare at. he supposed this was the time that he should be having an intense spiritual awakening, staring at God’s face while trying to piece his life together. but he had nothing.

as he had already shoved every shred of emotion out of his body, his head got clearer, making the silence and darkness of the area more apparent to him. the previous comfort that he felt was still there, but it felt stifling, as if it crowded into him more and more. luhan wondered how messed up he was to feel claustrophobic of _ comfort. _

still, he held on. it wasn’t like he was going to get this at his house, anyway. he had to take it whenever he could get it.

he bowed his head in exhaustion.

“you cry your heart out, and now you pray? shouldn’t it be the other way around?” a voice asked beside him. startled, luhan jolted from his seat and faced towards the person.

it was a boy, who looked young enough to be close to luhan’s age, but there was a glint in his eyes that betrayed his maturity. his almond eyes were sharp, not of anger, but of mischief. his skin was pale and clear, but with the harsh dim lights of the outside lamps, it looked pallid and almost translucent.

luhan could see that the cold was affecting the boy too, with his lips chapped from the cold and a few shivers that he seemed to be trying to suppress coming out. but still, the boy continued to smirk smugly at luhan, looking at him as if he was looking _ into _ him. he stared at luhan as if he knew every inch of him—perhaps even the ones luhan himself didn’t know. and despite all of that, luhan couldn’t find any shred of fear inside of him; instead, a few tendrils of _ want _ coiled in his stomach.

“you didn’t answer my question, babe,” the boy said in a low voice, as if trying to keep the courtesy of quietness when they were the only ones inside the church. he moved closer to luhan, settling his arm inches apart from luhan’s, and whispered to him, his lips almost kissing luhan’s ears. “you scared, babe?”

luhan shook his head—whether it was because he was saying no, or because he just needed to get his head straight, he didn’t know. that was it—_he didn’t know who this boy was_.

his instincts told him that they were near in age, that this wasn’t some creepy predator that was going to cut him open, steal his organs, and sell them to the black market. (of course, why would organ harvesters even go to the church, luhan, _ god_).

but he was still bothered by the fact that he didn’t know this boy—this was a small town, and luhan had been born and raised here—he knew everyone, so _ who was this boy _?

immersed in his thoughts, he forgot that the boy was mere centimeters away from his ear, until the boy blew on it. annoyed, luhan faced him, only to be met by the boy’s smirk, which had grown larger.

“what?” luhan hissed.

“so you’re not scared, huh, babe?” the boy teased.

luhan rolled his eyes. “why would i?” he said haughtily—or at least, he tried to be.

his voice faltered at his last word, and luhan knew the boy caught his stumble, from the way he chuckled in return. still, he tried to appear unbothered, even though he truly was.

luhan didn’t want to admit it, but he was actually scared. not because of the boy, but because of his reaction to him.

here he was, in a dark building, alone with a stranger, but he couldn’t feel a single ounce of fear in his body. the instinct to run away from danger was gone, and luhan didn’t know if it was because he sensed no danger from the boy, or because he had no sense of self-preservation anymore, not finding the need to run away and _ survive _ anymore.

the boy stopped laughing and his smirk has also dropped. he had an unreadable expression in his face, but it wasn’t unfamiliar for luhan.

it still felt like the boy was looking,_ reading _ into him yet again, but somehow, he didn’t feel as uncomfortable with it as before. he just felt… _ hot_.

the coldness of the air was gone now, and despite the large, open windows of the church, the night breeze didn’t seem to reach where luhan was. sweat beaded at his name, and his jacket, which he deemed too-thin earlier, was now a layer too much for him.

the boy was still in front of him, unmoving, but from the intensity of the stare that he gave luhan, he might as well be crowding into him. this should be impossible, now that luhan thought of it—how could the boy feel so close, as if he’s inches apart and chest to chest to luhan, when there was still a considerable distance between them? 

luhan’s gaze dropped at his hand, which was clenched into a fist, resting on the pew as he kept his balance. it was the part of him closest to the boy, a few inches away from the boy’s other hand. luhan didn’t know what fell upon him—he spread his hand, his fingers stretched as far as they could, as if he was reaching to touch the other boy.

the realization of what he did dawned upon him, and luhan froze in shock. _ what was he doing? _ he immediately tried to withdraw his hand, but it was too late though. the other boy saw.

he must have been looking at his hand for a second too long, because the boy became curious and dropped his gaze on their hands. seeing what luhan did, the boy scoffed, putting his smirk in place again. then, he reached out and captured luhan’s hand under his.

luhan felt his heart stop. but evidently, the boy didn’t care, flipping their hands now that luhan’s was on top. with his thumb, he stroked the back of luhan’s hand, tracing random figures on it. or were they not random?

he didn’t know. he _ couldn’t _ know—how would he, when he couldn’t think? the boy, and what he was doing with luhan’s hand ( and heart ), was just _ too much_.

where the boy seemed to be crowding him earlier, trapping him and leaving him breathless and claustrophobic from an entire couple of feet away from him, now he has _ engulfed _ luhan. it was like he was outside him, around him, _ inside _ him. it was like the boy was in him, kicking down on the walls of his gut, spinning his stomach like a ferris wheel on overdrive.

he was there in his chest, gripping his heart tightly, playing around with the veins of his lungs like his own personal violin. that was what the boy did—not by what he’s doing with their hands, but by what he’s doing by being _ him_—he was making music using luhan. and luhan let him be. no other song felt sweeter than this.

after a beat, he managed to gather himself. “what are you doing?” luhan asked, his voice dropping into a whisper, unable to give his voice more power to add more volume.

the boy was still tracing on the back of luhan’s hand, looking determined, as if he was writing something monumental. then, with an air of finality, he traced another figure, which luhan managed to register as the letter, _ k_.

“there,” the boy said, looking at luhan’s hand while he cradled it in his, as if it was something precious. he looked directly at him again. “i was giving you my name. weren’t you paying attention, babe?” he asked, before bringing luhan’s hand to his lips and kissing it.

“no,” luhan said bluntly. he quickly realized how hostile he must have sounded, because he quickly tried to backtrack. “i mean—”

the boy just laughed at him. his laughter sounded softer like the one before, as if the tinge of mischief it had earlier left it already. if luhan were more interested in acting ridiculous, he would’ve said that the boy seemed _ fond. _

luhan was astounded. for the nth time tonight, he found himself asking again, _ what was he doing? _

he should be at home, sleeping his pain off, a momentary bliss of comfort being waking up to the dead silence of their house and his father’s sober—_or at least he hoped—_but angry face at him.

(he didn't care if his father was angry anymore. all that mattered was that he would be sober; he didn’t hurt luhan when he was sober.)

but instead he was in church at after hours, with a stranger who was kissing his hand. 

(still, luhan couldn’t deny that this was the closest thing to _ love _ that he felt in a while.)

the boy took their enjoined hands and settled them on top of his thigh. he cocked his head to the side, and looked at luhan, pouting. “aw, you weren’t listening to me, huh, babe,” he said, _ tsk_-ing. 

“it’s not like you were saying anything!” luhan protested. the boy raised an eyebrow at him, making luhan add further, “...it’s not like i knew you were writing something, okay?” 

it was weird. _ this _was weird. there was nothing normal in what was currently happening to luhan, but at the same time, he found himself lacking any will to complain about this.

of course, there was the possibility that this boy was nothing but a figment of his imagination, a hallucination from the head injury that he might have gotten earlier, or perhaps just the devil himself loitering inside the church as God slept, but luhan couldn’t even try to think rationally right now.

logic has left him, and there was no other way that he could explain what was happening to him but say that he’s probably dreaming.

maybe he was dead and this was the momentary solace that god has afforded him before he suffered in hell with all the cocksuckers that his father condemned. but still, despite the pain and horrors that tomorrow threatened to give, he wasn’t worried about it. 

when tomorrow came to drown him in pain, all luhan would probably do is mourn this boy.

“doesn’t matter. i’m hurt,” the boy said, raising their entwined hands and pressing them against his chest. “you have to make it up to me, you know, babe,” the boy said, with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“how?” luhan asked.

“tell me your name,” the boy said. luhan opened his mouth to utter it, but using his free hand, the boy took his index finger to stop him from speaking. “you have to trace it too, babe,” he said, his previous smirk returning fully on his face.

“how?” luhan found himself asking again.

“i used my thumb. now, i want you to use your tongue,” the boy said. his eyes traveled from luhan’s eyes and dropped to his lips, lingering there and staring with interest.

luhan found his chest bereft of air once again, the open space acting like walls enclosing on him again.

he felt the buildup of sweat at his back drenching his thin shirt, sticking uncomfortably cold to his skin. his free hand felt numb in pain, prickled by thousands of invisible needles, while his other hand, the one still clasped tightly against the other boy’s chest, felt like it was burning.

there was a multitude of sensation flooding luhan’s system, and he couldn’t focus, as if he was delirious. his brow furrowed in confusion—whether he was trying to make sense of himself or what the boy said, he didn’t know anymore.

“what do you—” he started. he didn’t even get to finish his sentence, because the other boy swooped in and kissed him.

this was luhan’s first time kissing a boy, and he never would have imagined that it would be someone whose name he didn’t even know. it was unlike how the movies portrayed kisses—there were no fireworks, no sudden play of dramatic orchestra music, or a lady belting some old-fashioned love song in the background. there was no pause moment, like how the books said they’ll be.

there was no stopping of time, nor did the world stop spinning on its axis for them. it didn’t even give them the luxury of spinning _ only _ for them, like how luhan heard some of his giggling classmates say when he eavesdropped once. they had said that it would feel like it was the universe’s pull, a ticked task in fate’s to-do list, the culmination of millions of years of history—as if everything in time happened just because of you two. but for luhan, it didn’t feel that way. in fact, he has never felt smaller than he did now.

luhan didn’t feel the sole attention of the universe on them, like how his classmates had mentioned. he didn’t feel like they were on a pedestal, the protagonists of a story that was made just for them. instead, he felt like he was like everyone else—like he _ was _ everyone else.

it wasn’t a matter of normalcy or even universality, like this was the turnaround of luhan’s lifetime angst of being different—like he had been outside a bubble, ostracized from the majority and this kiss was his ticket to the inside. 

_ no_—this was luhan feeling like he’s _ one _ with the world, with the billions of people in the planet serving as actors for the universe’s plans. he felt purposeful, as if finally, _ finally_, he was doing his part.

there was something with the way this boy made him feel, with what his kiss brought out in him, that made luhan stop feeling like a plastic bag, floating in the wind, ending up in a landfill somewhere, unable to get rid of its fate as an environmental nuisance for years to come. he felt tethered in the ground, like he was important, like he was _ doing something right_. 

in truth, it was the other way around. all luhan felt right now was that finally, _ finally,_ he was paying attention to the universe for once, instead of burdening it with his existence. he felt like God would be proud.

and how messed up was that, considering everything that revolved around this circumstance? still, luhan found himself uncaring, too blind with the pride of being useful.

while the boy kissed him gently at first, it was clear that he didn’t intend to do that for the entirety of their kiss. he pulled the hands entwined with luhan’s away, in order to take luhan’s face with both of his hands. he kissed him harder, taking advantage of luhan’s momentary gasp to slide his tongue inside. his breath was hot against luhan, and despite the slight awkwardness when he bumped his sharp nose against luhan’s when he moved his head sidewards, he kept going, and _ going. _

luhan felt like he was drowning, which was odd, considering he felt fluid, like he was a damful of water threatening to burst open. the raging current continued to rage under his skin, setting his body on fire—it sounded impossible, but that was exactly how it felt like.

fire spread throughout his entire body, as fluid as how water flowed. it licked every inch of him, not leaving any space untouched. he could feel his ears ringing, muffling all outside noise, as all he could hear was how his heart thumped and how the susurrus of the waves inside him as they persisted to claim his insides as their shores, crashing into them, pushing and pulling back and forth.

the other boy tasted vaguely of cigarettes, but more bitter than the ones that he stole from his father once. up close, he smelled nice though, the mixture of cheap perfume, fabric conditioner, and the tangy hint of salt that luhan could only assume was the boy’s sweat. he never thought he would come to a time wherein he would appreciate another person’s smell, but look how the mighty has fallen.

luhan was in deep—_too deep_—into this boy, and he didn’t even know his name yet.

he wasn’t the devil, that, at least, luhan was able to confirm, as the boy broke away from him, struggling to get his breath back. his pupils were blown, and his cheeks were stained red. luhan could only imagine that he must have looked the same.

the boy managed to gain his composure fast, smirking again. “you still didn’t tell me your name, babe,” he said. the boy swiped his thumb across the corner of luhan’s lower lip, wiping what he assumed was a thread of drool. he would have been embarrassed if he still wasn’t in a daze.

“luhan,” he said quietly. he looked at the boy’s eyes, scanning them for a reaction, because as pathetic as it sounded, there was a part of him that craved to see the boy’s reaction to his name (to him).

“lu-han,” the other boy repeated, playing with the syllables of luhan’s names, testing them out. then, he looked at luhan again, and gave him a smile—a genuine smile, not the smirks that he had been offering the latter the entire time earlier.

“my name’s minseok. remember it, ‘cause you’ll be screaming it soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank god for ao3's anon function. 
> 
> rating for this fic may change.


End file.
